


A Sense Of Need

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Desperation, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the Welcome To Night Vale Kink Meme. Carlos is bladdershy: if there is anyone else in the bathroom with him, he just can’t go. Unfortunately, mysteriously floating cats hovering and staring do apparently count as “anyone else.” This is a problem.</p><p>Contains omorashi. (If you don’t know what that is, I suggest you look it up first before you plunge in. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sense Of Need

"I, uh, I’ll be right back, Cecil." Carlos says, and then he disappears, seemingly unaware of the fact that he had interrupted the other man mid-sentence. He moves into the bathroom, unzipping his trousers, and stands in front of the urinal there (after the cursory check, of course, for venomous snakes in place of urinal cakes).

And then, Carlos freezes, turning his head to the side.

Khoshekh is staring at him. Carlos is allergic to cats, but at this distance, it is not so much of a problem, and even when he washes his hands they will not be too close for too long. No, Carlos’ allergies are not the problem.

But Khoshekh is  _staring_  at him. And Carlos needs to  _go._

 

Carlos lets out a slow breath, concentrating on the luminescent black tile of the station bathroom in front of him, and he ignores Khoshekh. He needs to  _piss_ , really he does, but he  _can’t._

He’s never been able to do so whilst being watched, or even if someone is on the other side of the door and can  _hear_  him. His bladder feels tight, and he can feel the all-encompassing sensation of  _needing_  to go, so desperately craving  _release._

He hopes that the phrase “dying to pee” is not one of those many idioms that becomes literal in Night Vale. 

He shifts on his feet, putting his head back and looking up at the ceiling: by doing so, he looks into the black, endless eyes of one of Khoshekh’s several kittens. 

Crap.

Carlos tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his trousers, moving to wash his hands in the sink and avoiding Khoshekh by picking the angle that put the most distance between them whilst still allowing him access to the sink.

God, he could still feel the coiled tension in his stomach, the shakiness to his thighs; he would have to wait until Cecil was done with the show and they could go  _home_.

"Carlos, what took you so long?" Cecil’s question is a relief when Carlos enters the room again: his microphone has been put away, and the the radio host has shouldered his bag - thank  _God._  

"Oh, uh, I was just- uh, doesn’t matter, you know, let’s go." Carlos says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck - this was not something he wished to discuss. Cecil blinks at him. "Science." Carlos mutters, and Cecil nods his understanding.

"Ah, I understand." That response usually means Cecil doesn’t ask more uncomfortable questions. Carlos plays with a danger-metre, adjusting its dial and keeping an eye on the bouncing needle as he moves out to the car with Cecil: he needs to go. He  _needs_  to. “Are you alright, Carlos?”

"Scientifically speaking I’m as alright as ever. Slightly full." Carlos crosses his legs as he sits in the passenger seat, and Cecil watches him. 

"Full? Didn’t you just go to the bathroom?"

"Uh, yes, but, you know, got distracted, what with all the science to be done."

"Do you want to go now? It’s a drive-"

"It’s fine! You know, I’ll go once we get to my place." 

"Okay…"

The journey is  _too_  far. Cecil is a good driver, and Carlos is usually calmed by the way the other man methodically turns the wheel, so slowly, so  _practised._ Carlos cannot be calm. He nearly jumps to exit the car once they get to Carlos’ place, but Cecil’s hand alights on Carlos’ wrist, and no, oh no, Cecil wants to say something heart-felt - Carlos needs to  _pee._

 _“_ Cecil, God, Cecil, sorry, but I have-“

Cecil leans in, and then his voice is against Carlos’ ear, low and sonorous, and it feels like it is  _vibrating_  through Carlos’ very form. His breath is hot; Carlos shivers.

"Do you need to go?" Cecil asks, and Carlos lets out a short noise which is more a whimper than anything else. "Are you desperate go go, Carlos?"

"Oh, God." Cecil lets him go.

"Go inside." Carlos runs. He is torn between wanting to  _piss_  and feeling a twinge of interest - completely different interest, and he thinks of Cecil pulling Carlos into his lap, holding him there,  _keeping_  him there when he so desperately needs to-

Oh,  _God._

Carlos freezes on the doorstep, key in the lock, and Cecil wraps himself around the shorter man, lips on the back of his neck, hands with long, slender fingers alighting on Carlos’ waist. “Carlos.” He says, and Cecil drags out the “S”.

Carlos leans back against him. 

"Is it hard to hold it in, Carlos?"

"I need to go. But I can’t- I can’t go in front of people-"

"You  _can._ " Cecil purrs, and he pushes the other man inside, leading him into the bathroom: Cecil strips off his own clothes, pushes Carlos’ labcoat from his shoulders, and then pulls the other man into the bath with him, into his lap.

This is not what Carlos had expected.

"Is this okay?" Cecil asks softly, and Carlos nods, swallowing hard; his mouth is oh so dry.

He can feel his bladder, full, and he wants to wriggle, to shift, but Cecil catches hips to keep him still. “Kick off your shoes.” Cecil murmurs, and Carlos does - it is a nice bath, large, comfortably suiting Cecil even though he is tall and lanky. 

"Cecil, I  _can’t_ -“

"You can." Cecil murmurs, and one of his hands slides under Carlos’ shirt, fingers stroking over the flesh of his stomach - Carlos feels that by now his stomach should be swollen with how much he needs to  _piss_. Cecil presses down: Carlos whines. “Are you going to go, Carlos? Are you going to wet yourself, all over me?”

"I  _can’t_ , Cecil, scientifically speaking it is impossible for me to go in front of-“

"You will." Cecil murmurs, and his voice is so  _low_. Carlos thinks he might. His cheeks feel so  _hot,_ so flushed as they are with embarrassment, and he wants to wail.

Cecil presses down again; Carlos feels a tiny,  _tiny_  trickle of heat.

“ _Oh_ -” He cries out, shifting in Cecil’s lap, and then he feels release, hot, wet heat soaking into his trousers, and he is crying, oh, God, he is so embarrassed and yet he feels the strangest twinge of  _arousal_  - Cecil holds him mostly still, and Carlos lets out a pathetic noise.

It’s soaked through, he’s certain of it, soaked right through his clothes and wet Cecil too. Cecil leans forwards and turns on the tap.

"Feel better?" He asks. Carlos nods, shakily, as the water begins to rush into the tub. "Good. Let’s get all  _clean._ " Something about that tone affects Carlos to shiver.

"Will we do this again?" He asks, voice suddenly hoarse. Throat spiders? No, he’s probably fine, for now.

"Do you want to?" A pause.

"Yes."

"Then yes." Cecil answers, and it is so simple, as if the idea is so fine, and not taboo, as if Carlos hadn’t just-  _and he is so aroused._  Carlos is  _bewitched._

 _"Neat."_ Carlos whispers, and Cecil laughs, “Yes. Neat.”


End file.
